The bass from the speakers thumps through the floor, vibrating up through Carl's sneakers as he stands near the kitchen counter, a cup of water sweating in his hand. He hasn't touched a drop of alcohol tonight.
Adam appears through the crowd, cup sloshing, a grin splitting his stubbled jaw. His black eyes are glassy, unfocused, his massive frame swaying as he spots Carl and makes a beeline. He catches Carl's wrist, fingers closing tight.
"Carl! There you are, been looking everywhere—" He tugs, pulling Carl away from the counter. "Come here, gotta show you something."
"Adam, you're drunk—"
"I'm not that drunk." Adam's grip tightens, dragging Carl through the packed living room, past bodies grinding and red cups flying and someone yelling along to a song Carl doesn't recognize. The music swells, then muffles as Adam shoulders open a door and hauls Carl into a dark bedroom. The click of a lock. Then Adam's mouth is on his.
The kiss is sloppy, wet, tasting of cheap beer and vodka. Adam's tongue pushes past Carl's lips, one hand gripping the back of Carl's neck, the other dropping to squeeze his ass through his jeans, hard, kneading, pulling their hips together. Carl's hands come up to Adam's chest. Pushing. Then not pushing. His fingers curl into the fabric of Adam's shirt.
"Adam, someone could walk in—"
"Door's locked." Adam's breath is hot against Carl's jaw, his hand still working Carl's ass, pulling the cheeks apart through the denim. "Get on your knees."
"I don't think—"
"Carl." The way Adam says his name, low, commanding, the same voice that barks audibles on the field. "Suck my cock."
Carl's throat tightens. His eyes flick to the door. The party pulses beyond it, bass, laughter, someone screaming along to a chorus. He sinks to his knees. The carpet is thin and rough against his skin. His hands find Adam's belt, fumble with the buckle, pull the zipper down. Adam's cock springs free, thick and hot and half-hard, and Carl leans forward, opens his mouth—
Three sharp knocks on the door.
Adam's head snaps toward it. "I'm busy. Fuck off."
"It's me, bro!" Brad's voice, slurred and muffled through the wood. "I gotta talk to you. Just a sec, won't take long."
"I said fuck off, Brad."
"Bro, I'm serious. Two minutes. Come on, open the door."
Adam's jaw clenches. He stares at the ceiling, exhales hard through his nose, tucks himself back into his jeans, yanks the zipper up. He crosses to the door and throws it open.
Brad stands in the doorway, swaying, a red cup in one hand. His eyes scan the room, landing on Adam first, then dropping to Carl, still kneeling on the floor. A slow grin spreads across his face.
"Ohhhh shit." He leans against the doorframe, arms folding. "You guys were getting freaky. Don't stop on my behalf."
A frustrated breath hisses through Adam's teeth. "What do you want, Brad?"
"So the girl I was trying to hook up with?" Brad gestures vaguely behind him. "Just left me with the worst blue balls of my life. Then I see you pulling Mr. Fat Ass into this room, and I'm thinking..." His eyes drag down Carl's body, lingering on the knees-spread position, the hands still hovering at Adam's open zipper. "Maybe I could get a taste too."
Adam steps forward, chest puffing. "Bro, chill. It's my boyfriend you're talking about. I ain't gonna share him."
Brad laughs, a big, booming drunk laugh that cuts through the music. He waves his hand. "It's not like we haven't shared our ex-girlfriends before. What's the problem with sharing Carl?"
Adam's nostrils flare. His dick aches behind his zipper, half-hard and trapped. He stares at the ceiling for a long moment, exhales hard, and looks back at Brad.
"Fine. Get in. Quick. And you don't breathe a word of this to anyone."
Carl watches from the floor. His mouth is open, eyes moving between them like a spectator at an auction. They're bartering over him. His opinion isn't asked. His name is used like currency. He stays on his knees, the carpet burning.
Brad steps inside, shuts the door, turns the lock. The click is final.
Adam shoves his jeans down and sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread, cock jutting up. He looks at Carl. The look is clear: come here.
Carl's eyes meet Adam's. A plea sits behind them, please don't make me do this. Adam's expression doesn't budge. Do what you're told.
Carl moves on his knees across the carpet, the fibers abrading his skin. He takes Adam's cock in his hand, leans in, and wraps his lips around the head. Adam's hand finds the back of Carl's head, fingers threading through blonde hair, guiding him down. Carl bobs, cheeks hollowing, spit slicking the shaft, his tongue working the underside.
Brad watches from near the door. Silent. Then the rustle of fabric, his shirt hitting the floor, his pants following. He walks over and sits on the bed beside Adam, his thick thigh pressing against Adam's.
Carl pulls off Adam's cock, turns, and his eyes land on Brad's dick. He freezes. Same length as Adam's, yes, but thick. Beer-can thick, the girth of it obscene, the head fat and blunt. His fingers wouldn't close around it. His jaw aches just looking at it.
Adam nudges his head toward Brad. "Blow him."
Carl shifts on his knees, positioning himself between Brad's spread legs. He wraps his hand around the base, his fingers don't meet. He opens his mouth wide, wider than he's ever had to, and takes the head in. The stretch pulls at the corners of his lips, his jaw straining. He gets halfway down and his throat seizes. He gags, pulls back, spit trailing from his lips to Brad's cock.
"Easy, easy." Brad's hand rests on Carl's shoulder. His voice drops, smooth, practiced, the tone of someone who has done this before. "Breathe through your nose. Don't try to take it all at once. Just the head. Use your tongue."
Carl tries again. Slower. His tongue works the underside, tracing the thick ridge, his lips stretched tight around the shaft. He takes another inch, another. His jaw burns. He pulls off, gasping, and turns back to Adam, taking Adam's cock again, the easier fit a relief after Brad's thickness. Then back to Brad, working him with his hand while his mouth adjusts, his lips popping around the fat head. Back and forth, Adam, then Brad, then Adam, spit and precum mixing on his chin, his lips swollen and slick, his hand pumping whichever cock his mouth isn't on.
Brad stands. His hands reach down, grip Carl under the arms, and pull him to his feet. Carl's knees are sore, his lips puffy. Brad's fingers find the hem of Carl's shirt and tug it over his head. Then his jeans, button, zipper, shoved down. Carl steps out of them, naked, his cock half-hard against his thigh.
Brad turns him around.
"Holy shit." The words come out breathless. Brad's hands land on Carl's hips, his eyes fixed on Carl's ass. "Finally. I get to see this ass without any clothes on."
His big hands cup both cheeks, squeezing, kneading. The muscle is dense, round, firm beneath the skin. Brad's thumbs dig in, spreading him slightly, exposing the hole.
"Aren't you gonna protest? Like all the other times?" Brad's laugh rumbles behind Carl. He squeezes harder, pulling the cheeks apart and pushing them together. "What happened to all that 'I'm not gay' stuff? Where'd that energy go?"
Carl says nothing. His hands hang at his sides.
Brad turns to Adam. "Bro. This ass." He lifts one cheek, lets it drop. "Remember that cheerleader we tag-teamed last year? The one from State? Her ass was big too, but it was all fat. Soft. Nice to look at, but when you grabbed it..." He shakes his head. "Nothing. This though. This is something else. Good to look at and good to touch."
His palm connects with Carl's right cheek. The smack echoes off the walls. Carl's ass ripples. Brad's eyes widen.
"God damn, look at that jiggle." He slaps again, lighter, testing. Then again. A rhythm of light smacks, each one making the flesh bounce, the skin flushing pink. "Didn't I tell you I was gonna get in this ass? And now I will."
Adam watches from the bed, his cock in his hand, slowly stroking. "Seeing it is one thing," he says. "Fucking it is another."
"You think I can't handle it?"
"I think that ass is gonna make you cum in thirty seconds."
Brad grins. "Wanna bet?"
Adam stands. "I'll loosen him up first. Your dick's too thick, he won't take it without prep." He moves behind Carl, positioning him at the edge of the bed, bending him forward. Carl's hands press into the mattress. His ass is up, exposed.
Adam lines up and pushes in. Carl's breath catches, the familiar stretch, the fullness. Adam grips his hips and starts to move. Slow at first, then faster, his thighs slapping against Carl's ass. The wet sound of lube and spit fills the room.
Brad stands in front of Carl, his thick cock at eye level. Carl opens his mouth and takes Brad's cock again, his lips stretched obscenely around the girth. Spit-roasted, Adam's rhythm pushing him forward onto Brad's dick, then back onto Adam's. His jaw aches. His ass burns. The sounds, slap, squelch, slurp, layer over the muffled bass from the party.
Adam fucks harder. His grip tightens on Carl's hips, fingers digging into the muscle. His thrusts become short, sharp, desperate. He grunts, slams in deep, and holds. His body shudders. Carl feels the heat, Adam cumming inside him, the pulse of it. Adam pulls out, breathing hard.
He tucks himself back in, grabs his shirt. "He's all yours." He looks at Brad. "I'm gonna head out. I know you fuck through the night, and I can't sleep in here with all that going on."
Carl lifts his head from Brad's cock. His eyes find Adam's. The betrayal sits behind them, this started because Carl wanted to help Adam, and now Adam is handing him off like a shared joint, like a passed-around girl.
Adam keeps the act steady. "Don't fuck my boyfriend too hard. And don't tell anyone about this." He pauses at the door. "I'm only letting you do this because you're my best mate. And because Carl isn't satisfied with just one fuck. And I'm too tired." He says it looking at Carl, daring him to contradict it.
The door closes. Adam is gone.
Carl stares at the closed door. The room feels smaller. Brad's hand is on his shoulder.
"Come on." Brad guides Carl back to the bed. "Suck me a bit first. Get me ready."
Carl kneels. He takes Brad's cock in his mouth again, working him with his hand and lips, his jaw stretched to its limit. Brad groans, his hand on the back of Carl's head, not pushing, just resting there, fingers curled in blonde hair.
After a few minutes, Brad pulls out. "On your side."
Carl lies on his side on the bed, one arm under his head. Brad slides behind him, his chest against Carl's back, his thick cock pressing against Carl's ass. Brad's hand lifts Carl's top leg, positioning him.
"Deep breath." Brad's lips are at Carl's ear. His voice is warm, slow, honeyed. "I know it's big. Just relax. I've done this before, girls who were scared, thought they couldn't take it. I always make it fit. Just breathe."
Carl breathes. The head of Brad's cock pushes against his hole, slick with spit and Adam's cum. The stretch starts. It's too much. His body tenses.
"Shhh. Relax. Push out a little. That's it." Brad's hand slides over Carl's hip, resting on his stomach. "You're doing good. Just the tip. There you go."
The head pops in. Carl's breath hisses between his teeth. The girth is obscene, wider than Adam's, his hole stretched thin around it. Brad holds still, one hand on Carl's hip, the other splayed on his stomach.
"See? Not so bad." Brad's voice is a murmur. "Little more. Breathe."
He pushes another inch in. Carl's hand grips the sheet. Another inch. The fullness is overwhelming, his ass opening wider than it ever has, the pressure constant, relentless. Brad's mouth is at his neck, his breath warm.
"Good. Good. Almost there."
Brad bottoms out. Carl feels it in his stomach. His hole clenches around the base of Brad's cock, stretched to the limit.
Then Brad starts to move.
Slow. Deliberate. His hips rock, pulling back an inch, pushing back in. The friction drags against Carl's walls. A grunt escapes Brad's throat. "Fuck. That's tight."
He picks up the pace. His hips snap forward, and the sound, skin meeting skin, echoes in the room. Carl's ass ripples with each thrust, the flesh bouncing. The headboard taps the wall. Then bangs. Then a steady rhythm of thuds.
"God damn, look at that ass." Brad's hand grips Carl's cheek, squeezing as he fucks. The flesh spills between his fingers. "This ass was made for dick."
The bed creaks. The headboard hammers the wall. Outside, the party is still going, bass thumping, someone yelling, a girl laughing. Inside, the sounds are wet. The squelch of Brad's cock in Carl's hole. The slap of skin. Carl's breath hitching with each thrust.
"Fuck. I missed fucking without a condom." Brad's voice is strained, thick with pleasure. "This is, fuck, this is so goddamn good. Raw. So fucking good. Nothing between us. Fuck."
His arm wraps around Carl's chest, pulling him closer. His hips grind, then thrust, deep and slow. Carl's cock is hard, leaking onto the sheets. His body moves with Brad's rhythm, his ass pushing back without his permission.
"I'm close." Brad's thrusts quicken. The bed shakes. The headboard slams. "Gonna fill this ass up."
He drives in deep and holds. His body tenses behind Carl, his cock pulsing. Carl feels the warmth flooding inside him, Brad's cum, thick and hot. Brad groans against his neck, his hips twitching through the aftershocks.
They lie still. Brad's cock softens inside Carl. The party noise filters back in, muffled music, distant voices.
"Rest for a bit." Brad pulls out slowly. Cum leaks from Carl's hole, pooling on the sheet. "I'll be ready to go again in a while."
Carl stares at the wall. His hole throbs. His mind is quiet and loud at the same time.
Two hours pass. The party has dimmed, fewer voices, the bass reduced to a low pulse. Carl drifts in and out of sleep, his body curled on the damp sheets, cum drying on his thighs.
A hand shakes his shoulder. "Wake up."
Carl opens his eyes. Brad is above him, hard again, his thick cock jutting from his hips.
"On your back."
Carl rolls over. His muscles protest. Brad settles between his legs, lifting Carl's knees to his shoulders. He lines up and pushes in. Carl's hole, still slick with cum and spit, opens easier this time, but the stretch is still there, still obscene.
Brad fucks him missionary. His hips drive down, each thrust pressing Carl into the mattress. The bed groans. The headboard resumes its rhythm against the wall. Brad's face is close, his breath hot, his eyes half-closed.
"You take dick so good." Brad's hands grip Carl's thighs, spreading him wider. "Look at you. Taking this fat cock like you were made for it."
Carl's hands grip the sheets. His cock is hard against his stomach, bouncing with each thrust. Precum pools in the lines of his abs. His hole is swollen, puffy, stretched around Brad's girth.
Brad leans down, his weight pressing Carl into the mattress. His thrusts become shorter, harder. The sound is wet, the squelch of cum and lube and sweat. His balls slap against Carl's ass. The pace quickens. The headboard hammers.
"Fuck, fuck." Brad's rhythm breaks. He slams in, grinds, and cums again. His cock pulses inside Carl, adding to the load already there. He collapses forward, his weight heavy on Carl's chest.
They rest. Carl's eyes close.
The room is dark when Carl is shaken awake again. His phone screen glows on the nightstand, 4:00 AM.
"Last one." Brad's voice is rough with sleep and something else. "Come on."
Brad pulls Carl to the edge of the bed. He positions him on his knees, doggy, his ass at the edge of the mattress, feet on the floor. Brad stands behind him, his cock hard, slicked with spit.
He lines up and pushes in. Carl's hole opens, loose now, fucked open, cum leaking down his thighs. Brad grips his hips and starts to fuck him standing.
The angle is different. Deeper. Carl's ass is at the perfect height, and Brad's thrusts drive straight into him. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. Carl's ass bounces with each impact, the cheeks rippling, the flesh jiggling.
"Look at that fat ass jiggle." Brad slaps his right cheek. The smack is sharp. Carl's flesh ripples. "God damn. This ass was built for getting fucked."
He fucks harder. His hips snap forward, driving Carl into the mattress. Carl's face is pressed into the sheets, his hands gripping the fabric. The party outside has dwindled to a few voices, a distant laugh, the last survivors holding on.
Brad lifts his right leg and plants his foot on the edge of the bed. The angle changes. His thrusts become deeper, more brutal. He uses the leverage to pound into Carl, each thrust a full-body motion, his hips driving down and forward. The bed shakes. The headboard screams against the wall.
"Take it. Take that dick." Brad's hand comes down on Carl's ass, slap, slap, slap. The skin is red, hot. "You're my little fuck toy tonight. My little cum dump."
Carl's hole is raw. Swollen. The friction is intense, Brad's thick cock dragging against his walls, the cum inside him frothing, leaking out around the shaft. His cock is hard, bouncing with each thrust, leaking onto the sheets.
Brad flips him. Carl lands on his back, legs in the air. Brad drives back in, his hands on the backs of Carl's knees, pushing them to the mattress. He fucks hard ,fast, deep, relentless. The bed frame protests. The springs creak.
"You love it." Brad's hand wraps around Carl's throat, not squeezing, just holding. "Tell me you love it."
Carl's mouth opens. Nothing comes out. His body is speaking for him, his back arching, his hips rolling to meet Brad's thrusts, his cock twitching.
Brad pulls out. Flips Carl again. Back to doggy. Drives in. His pace is savage, his hips a blur, his balls slapping Carl's taint. He reaches forward, grabs a fistful of Carl's blonde hair, and pulls. Carl's head snaps back, his back arches, his throat exposed.
"Look at this ass." Brad's free hand slaps Carl's cheek. "Bouncing on my dick. Taking it raw. You're a fucking natural."
The sounds, slap, squelch, grunt, moan. The headboard bashing the wall. Carl's ass clapping with each thrust. The wet, obscene noise of cum being fucked in and out of a ruined hole.
Brad's rhythm falters. His grip tightens on Carl's hair. His thrusts become erratic, short, hard, desperate. He slams in deep, his body rigid, and unloads. His cock pulses, pumping cum into Carl's ass for the third time. He holds there, grinding, riding it out.
He pulls out. Cum flows from Carl's gaping hole, running down his thighs, pooling on the sheets. Brad steps back, breathing hard.
"Fuck." He wipes his forehead. "That was something."
Carl collapses on the bed. His face is in the sheets. His ass is in the air, still raised, his hole twitching, open, swollen, dripping. The party outside is finally quiet. The first hint of gray light creeps under the door.
Brad sits on the edge of the bed. His hand rests on Carl's lower back.
Carl doesn't move. His body aches from his jaw to his knees. His hole throbs, open and raw. The cum cools on his skin. The room smells like sweat and sex. The sheets are ruined. The headboard has left a dent in the wall.
Outside, a bird starts to sing.
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